


Shadows and Doubt

by fiacresgirl



Series: Summer of Sorrow [7]
Category: Arrow (TV 2012)
Genre: Angst, Baby Mama Drama, Coping, F/M, Grief, Hurt/Comfort, PTSD, Pregnancy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-25
Updated: 2016-07-25
Packaged: 2018-07-26 09:56:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,796
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7569688
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fiacresgirl/pseuds/fiacresgirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Felicity raises the question of William with Oliver and attends one of his mayoral events (partly inspired by the below picture <a href="https://twitter.com/paulblackthorne">posted by Paul Blackthorne)</a>.</p><div class="center">
  <p> </p>
  <p>    <img/><br/></p>
</div><br/>
            </blockquote>





	Shadows and Doubt

The light from the enormous windows wakes her at dawn. It’s too early, so Felicity rolls over, seeking the dark. She bumps her nose into Oliver’s wide chest, right into the middle of it. He pats her shoulder in his sleep, and folds her further into him, running his hand down her back and tucking it under her hip.

She leans her forehead against his warm skin and presses her lips into the hollow where the sweat pools when he works out. She has _missed_ watching him work out. Oliver likes an audience. He likes having her as his audience. Working out makes him feel more powerful and in control. Watching him work out makes her want to attack him, and if she’s right there, yeah, there’s a lot of sex. Oliver can be very, very competitive with himself about her responses, and it takes hours and hours for him to get tired even after the salmon ladder.

Hours and hours. She remembers the feel of the gym mats against her skin, how cool they are and how they stick to her, particularly when she’s sweating. Before all of this, before Oliver, she associated that sweat and plastic smell with jumping jacks and forward rolls. Now it reminds her of how insatiable her lover is, how even her knees sweat when he makes her come over and over again.

Her low groan escapes and vibrates against his chest, and his eyes flutter open. She glances up in time to see the smile start there in the blue-on-blue rings of his eyes. It finishes on his mouth.

Oliver presses a kiss on top of her head. “Good morning,” he says. “This is nice.” He snakes his other arm around her and rolls, pulling her on top of him. “More than nice.”

She feels his cock pushing up against her stomach, and she wants so much just to pull herself up, open her legs and ease him into her body. Unfortunately, she has something important to discuss with him. “Oliver,” she says, “About William…”  

He stiffens, and his erection begins to soften. He falls back against the pillows. He obviously doesn’t want to talk about this, but she doesn’t want to talk about this either. She _so_ doesn’t want to talk about this. “Last night...before I fell asleep, you said you were going to see him?”

He looks wary. Finally he says, “I am going to see him. Next week.”

Frustration rolls through her. He’s never going to change. Is he ever going to tell her anything? “Why didn’t you tell me?” she asks. She pulls herself off of him and puts a nice chunk of space between them on the bed.

He gapes at her. “Why would I?” he asks slowly.

She sweeps a hand over her stomach. “Well, maybe because we’re going to have a baby together?”

As if talking to a child or perhaps a non-English speaker, he says, “I didn’t _know that_ until last night.”

“You knew I was pregnant,” she says.

“Yes, and you also said _repeatedly_ that you hadn’t made a decision about it.”

“Didn’t you think I’d want to know about something so important?” she asks.

“Felicity,” he says, “As you’ve said many times, we’re not together. I knew you were going through a lot. Why would I dump this on you too?”

She feels the moral high ground slipping from underneath her feet and is confused. “Because we’re partners? Because I care about what happens with you?”

“Talking about William only hurts you,” Oliver says, eyeing her carefully. “Even I know that, and I’m just a guy.”

“Oh, no,” she says. “No you don’t! You don’t get to say things like that - that ‘guy’ stuff. Like you forgot to put the toilet seat back down. You kept your son a secret from me for months!”

Oliver crosses his arms in front of his chest. A couple of veins pop out with the movement, and she has to focus to keep herself outraged. He really is very sexy, and she is _very_ horny right now. No one told her about the pregnancy hormones surges. It’s a little shocking; she doesn’t even get it from an evolutionary standpoint. She’s _already pregnant_. Why does her body want sex all of the time? She drags her eyes back to his face. His attention is fully on her, and there’s a light of understanding in his eyes. Did she say any of that out loud?

“You’re not my fiancée anymore,” he says. “Or has that changed while I was asleep?”

The back of her neck prickles. “No,” she says.

“So, since William is a sore spot with you, and we’re not a couple, why should I have told you?” He holds her gaze patiently.

“You know what? I should get going,” she says. “It’s early enough that I can make it back to Lyla’s before she leaves for work, I think.”

Oliver nods solemnly. He’s watching her responses. “I have that press conference at noon at City Hall,” he says. “Are you still coming?”

She sighs. “I don’t know. Do you really need me there?” The press conference will overlap with Sara’s nap time, and she always gets media scrutiny when she’s around Oliver. She wonders when they’ll start taking pictures of her midsection and speculating.

“I don’t _need_ you there,” he says, “but it would be helpful. You know we’re going to be talking about the measures the city’s taking to eliminate the tent cities.”

The tent cities. With the collapse of the ground above H.I.V.E.’s underground bunker, most of the Glades are now completely gone for good, and many of the survivors are struggling to get basic services along with help for the grief and trauma they’ve been through. Oliver’s been working with the city’s businesses to sponsor the renting or building of better and more comprehensive housing options in the shorter term.

“Alright,” Felicity says, “I’ll come. I don’t know why you think it will help, but I’ll be there.”

He leans over and presses a kiss to her temple. “Thank you,” he says. “Marrick Greene will be happy to see you. He always asks about you when he’s reporting.”

“Tell Marrick I said hi,” she says, “and that I appreciate that WEBG doesn’t feature me in their coverage of the mayor’s office.”

“I will,” he says. “I’ll call you later to see how you’re doing.”

“Okay.” She knows he will, and that’s part of the problem. She hauls herself out of bed and heads for the bathroom to try and tame some her messiness before any of the photographers can capture it and splash it over the internet for Star City’s entertainment.

  


>>\--->

  


At eleven thirty, Felicity parks her mini Cooper in the city’s parking garage about two blocks away from City Hall. Lyla arranged for Sara to have a lunch date with Mrs. Richardson and Oreo down the hall, so she’s unexpectedly on her own. Her phone buzzes and she looks down to see a text.

 

_LMichaels, 11:34: Last minute change in schedule. Going to Oliver’s speech. R U there yet?_

 

What? Why is Lyla going to be here? Felicity texts back before she gets out of her car.

 

_FelicitySmoak, 11:34: What’s up?_

_LMichaels, 11:35: A.R.G.U.S. business. Want to observe crowd for tensions._

 

Felicity maneuvers her ways past a line of cars and through the cement structure, pausing in the stairwell to message back.

 

_FelicitySmoak, 11:36: On my way now. Where are U?_

_LMichaels, 11:37: Here now. Meet U by the trees?_

_FelicitySmoak, 11:37: B there in a sec._

 

The afternoon is sunny and hot, and her feet are swelling in her heels, but she tries to step lively and act normal to stay under anyone’s radar. The lunch crowd downtown is beginning to gather around the bistros and the food trucks in the larger circle at the center of the square. She skips across the square over to the stand of trees in the little park across from City Hall. Lyla gives a little wave with one hand.

The TV stations are setting up their recording equipment, and other reporters are milling about. City Hall is an imposing concrete and glass building, and the its stairs are split in two. Ten cement steps down from the entrance is a wide landing, and someone has set up a podium for the mayor there. Below another set of steps, chairs are arranged for reserved guests. Felicity knows one of those chairs is for her, but she’d much rather stand underneath the trees here - and not because it’s cooler in the shade.

As she approaches Lyla, she touches her friend’s shoulder. Lyla’s not really a hugger, and she has to project a certain aloofness for her job, but she knows that Felicity is and she tries to accommodate. There’s been a little dance between them this summer as they figure this out, and they’re finally getting into a comfortable groove.

“Shall we go sit down?” Lyla asks.

“Uh, I don’t think so,” Felicity says. “Those chairs are filling up fast.” She watches a horde of women, half of them dressed like they’re in a club, descend. The police begin to check IDs against a list. “Does it seem like the reporting pool is getting younger and more aggressive?”

Lyla gives her an amused smile. “You don’t have anything to worry about there.”

Felicity knows Lyla thinks she’s overreacting, but she hasn’t been in the thick of that set before. “You should hear how they talk about him,” she says. “It’s like he’s a piece of meat.”

“He doesn’t want any of them,” Lyla says. “You know that.”

“Do I?” Felicity asks. She eyes the blonde in the green dress. They had words a week and a half ago about appropriate and inappropriate touching. “Oliver does have a strong sex drive. A really strong sex drive.”

Lyla gives her a bland look. “Well, it’s a good thing he hasn’t been in a sex drought then,” she says.

Felicity narrows her eyes at her. “Look, I get it. I know he cares about me, but,” she waves at the two rows of women, “that is like a smorgasbord there. You can’t tell me he doesn’t notice when they press themselves up against him. What guy doesn’t want to take advantage of that?”

“Oliver,” Lyla says.  

“Lyla, c’mon.”

“You are not serious,” Lyla says.

“You weren’t here for the parade of women in 2013 and 2014,” Felicity says. “There was a period of time there when I thought maybe… And then he was with Sara.” She digs her nails into her palm. “I _liked_ Sara, but I didn’t like Sara and Oliver together, and I couldn’t say anything about it because it’s not like we…”

“Felicity that was _two years ago_ . Before you were together, before you went away, before you got engaged. Do you have any reason to believe that he’s interested in any other woman, that he’s _been interested_ in any other woman since that time? No, you don’t. Because he hasn’t. Do you think Johnny didn’t talk to me about what Oliver was doing - or wasn’t doing all that time?”

“Yes, I know--” Felicity says.  

“--You don’t know,” Lyla says impatiently. “This is a guy who could,” Lyla snaps her fingers and frowns. “It’s gross, but it’s true.” She puts her hand on Felicity’s arm. “The only person he wants is you.”

Felicity feels her eyes begin to fill. She keeps her eyes on the police who are putting themselves in formation around the podium to protect their mayor. “I’ve been so bitchy to him,” she says, swallowing. “I jerked him around about the baby, and I’ve been using him… I know he thinks I was just confused, but I _didn’t_ want to get back with him. I didn’t trust myself. I just needed… I just needed…”

“You needed him,” Lyla says, “and he knew it. And was he there for you?” Her blue eyes are so kind, full of understanding.

Felicity swipes at her eyes. “He was,” she says. “Every time. He came whenever I called. He let me cry all over him. He let me push him away, but he never went away. He made sure I was eating. He--” The tears are leaking out the sides of her eyes. She knows at least three of those women and one reporter are watching her, so she doesn’t let herself go down that mental trail about the pregnancy.

Lyla gives a decisive nod. “Good. That’s what he’s supposed to do if he’s committed to you. It’s ‘for better or for worse,’ Felicity. You’ve had a terrible time. He understands that. God knows you put up with a lot from him and never stopped supporting him or his mission. That’s _what love is_. Let’s sit down.” She puts her hand in the middle of Felicity’s back and pushes.

Felicity shakes her head. “They’ll know I’ve been crying,” she says.

“Who cares?” Lyla asks. “They won’t know you’ve been crying over Oliver. Bring something up on your phone. The world is full of tragedies right now, and being upset about them is a natural reaction.”

This seems like an okay idea, so while Lyla waves a badge and shoves her over to the two chairs that remain conspicuously open right in front of the podium, Felicity fiddles with her phone. When she’s seated, she turns to her friend, narrowing her eyes. “Oliver called you,” she says. “You’re not here for A.R.G.U.S.”

“I do need to get a bead on how the city is feeling about its leadership in the wake of this tragedy,” Lyla says mildly.

“But Oliver--”

“He asked me to be here because these types of events have traditionally gone not so peacefully in Star City,” Lyla says.

Felicity notices for the first time Lyla is wearing her side piece. “To protect me,” she says. “Why did you agree? I didn’t have to come if he was worried.”

“Oliver’s my friend too,” Lyla says. “He’s Sara’s Uncaver, and you’re not the only one he’s made meals for this summer. He needs the support. He knows how to protect the city physically, but this - this is a new arena for him. He asked, I came.”

The doors to the building above them open, and Oliver comes out. The sun glints off his hair, and he looks so gorgeous and statesmanlike in his expensive suit, his smile incandescent. He’s a political animal, and he’s at his peak. The women around them - and one of the guys - take a collective breath in. While he descends the stairs he does that thing - the awareness-of-his-surroundings thing that she’s not sure he even knows he does, but by the time his shoes hit the cement at the landing, he’s apparently satisfied there’s no imminent threat to address. He scans the crowd then, his eyes swooping over the sea of women, scanning, noting. His gaze passes over and then settles on Felicity. She meets his eyes, and the sparks from his burn into hers, passing undimmed, undiminished through the fifty feet that separate them. Her cheeks warm from that fire.

His 100-watt self-assured grin softens into something tender, something proud. Her throat closes, but this time she can’t swallow. Oliver’s gaze slides over to Lyla, and the two of them share a nod. Then he straightens, places the cards in his hand on the podium and begins to speak, “Good afternoon, Star City, and thank you for coming,” he says. “We’re about ready to begin.” Then he begins his speech about how the city is managing its responsibility to its people, “in the aftermath of our mutual tragedy.”

Felicity has seen Oliver play the hero in numerous guises: son, brother, Hood, Arrow, lover, friend, but she has never felt more like he was _her hero_ than she does at this moment. He’s overwhelming, that’s what he is. So good, so strong, so kind. She looks around and sees on the faces of the crowd what she feels herself: faith, trust. This man believes in them. This man will not falter in helping them.

She is unworthy of him and that. He is whole, and she is broken. He is so alive, and at least a part of her wants to--

She can’t think it. Oliver would be shocked and frightened. Lyla would frog march her to the psychologist’s. The baby needs a better mother than that.

She doesn’t belong here, though, in this first seat in front of the podium, listening to this man stir the embers hope in the city again. She doesn’t belong here.

Because she is hopeless.

**Author's Note:**

> I hope my readers can see the movement in this series. I feel like the forward and back that I'm trying to convey is typical of how people process real trauma and grief. The aftermath of breakups are, in my experience, often filled with stumbling and indecisiveness. It's hard to know what to do when your heart is broken.


End file.
